March 29th, 2015

Well, today is a Sunday and therefore there is nothing to do except make food for the entire day and then eat it at the end of the day. It seems rather irrelevant for me to tell you this but at the time of 13:26, the majority of my family is asleep, and I have done all of my chores; I feel like it is.

 Sundays are lazy days.

If you could tell from the previous post, I'm working on things! What kind of things? Extraordinary things.

So, here am I being presented. Sitting at the edge of my bed typing away on a laptop practically scorching the chair I've set it upon. The only light available is the ones streaming form the open curtains and the bleary lights on electronics. Music is muffled from the white ear buds that are safely hidden away among strands of vibrant hair. Chapped lips are moving along unfamiliar syllables and eyes blink slowly at the white screen. The words are typed with dull motions without a hint of pausing. Everything is set out before her as she—

Oops, got a bit narrative there. Apologies are required but aren't taken accordingly, unfortunately. I've been in a writing mood for about seven hours and I've been writing for five. The urge is swiftly dying out, but it seems I have a bit more in my soul then intended.

I'm not quite sure why I started this post, and I don't quite remember the blurred out reason. Typically, I tell you about my day and how it's going and if I'm tired or in school or what not. However, it's Spring Break and nothing is happening that I am willing to speak about, so there shouldn't be a post at all. Yet, here it is, existing and I'm sitting here typing it.

I feel like I just had an out-of-body experience.

Imperial Girl - Excerpt

Morgiana could only think of fear, blood, and salt. She shivered in her small, dirty clothes as she heard the older man yell and scream at the crowd. There were screams of joy when the price stilled, but groans of frustration when the order heighten only grew as the minutes ticked.

The young girl had ceased her crying as the noises drowned out. When there was only silence that remained, she grew curious about what happened. With her weak legs, she slowly stood and peered through opening of the curtain in front of the metal box.

In the replacement of the strangers and the ravenous man, there was nothing but red. Morgiana yelped, closing the curtain and falling back into the little cage. She shivered, unsure what to think. By that time, she couldn’t process death— she didn’t know of it. The young girl knew that the sight of liquid wine, however, meant danger. All of her alarms went off in the consequence of witnessing such a party.

She felt the cage being lifted up. The girl scrambled for purchase, clawing and grasping at air. The cage was spun round and round until the door to the metallic box was pushed open and she fell out.

Crashing onto the wooden stage, she shivered by the dryness of the air. Morgiana’s body had pulsed in a rush of energy, her previously weak legs had lifted her up with ease. She had crouched down into a fighting stance with her knees bent slightly and her arms raised. The girl saw imperial soldiers shouting in outrage as they tried stabbing her with their pointy sticks. She flipped over all of them, easily evading them as if she was playing games. They crashed into each other as she spun around in the air, kicking them if they ever get too close.

When the brawl was done, she was the only one left standing. Well, not exactly. There was one more person standing in front of her, surrounded by non-human creatures. He was a not an adult, but rather he seemed older than her. His ruby eyes seemed to glitter with surprise from her, but dulled by a certain cloud that Morgiana was all too familiar with. They stared at each other for lingering moments

“Oracle.” One of the hooded figures called out to the boy in front of her. Morgiana flinched by the depth of the voice. “Do you wish to eradicate this one?”

The boy laughed. “No, but I do think I found that girl’s birthday present.”

The last thing Morgiana realized was a cold hand to her neck and she fell into the darkness behind her eyes.

Alter Ego

Duke It Out

She’s the pieces of myself that I’ve lost. With these pieces, she was able to become something else entirely. She was something unpredictable in my methodical life, and that scares me— terrifies me even.

She wishes for control, but I can’t give her that. I’m too afraid to lose myself in her. I don’t want to be pulled by the strong tides she creates, and she doesn’t want me to hide away.

She’s the embodiment of my patience, kindness, and a bit of my narcissism. She wants to do more things than what society’s standards enforce upon us. She wants out.

Freedom is always at the tip of her tongue, but I always sew it shut. She’s so stupid sometimes, always wanting to do things she knows we can never do. Yet, she searches for ways of how we can do them and when. She’s the adventurous spirit I had lost from when I was young.

Whenever I try to sit down, she wants to stand up. Whenever she wants to sleep, I have to do things outside. We take turns controlling the body, but I make sure that the mind is always mine. She can’t control my impulses, and I won’t let her. This ongoing war will surely end in my favor.

She tries so hard to retain control, but we both know that she can’t hold it for long. I will be the winner of this battle and the next few, this is a fact set in stone. She still tries, trying to break free of this shell I forced us into. It’s amusing at the least, to watch her scratch the walls and call out to me; to scream at me.

“It’s my body!” She would always shriek at me. Tears glistening in her eyes and hiccups escaping her mouth. I always stare down long and hard at her, something akin to a smile on my face. While I watch her squirm under my gaze, I’d whisper a single phrase that would break her every single time.

“It’s not yours anymore,” I cracked a grin, “it’s mine now.”

March 24th, 2015

As per usual, today is a lazy day. Not much happened, minus the shredding my dog did to our tissues. I'm sort of hungry, but not to the point of cannibalism.

Hopefully I won't reached the point of starvation to be passing the line of morally right and right for me. No one really knows when though, and that's kind of scary. The thought of eating someone, or eating yourself.

Apologies about those thoughts, I've been thinking about society morals lately. Like, things such as right or wrong; things like that. It's an interesting idea process that I go through. Unfortunately, they're not entirely pleasant. 

But hey! It's my mind, and it's probably what will destroy me. Happy thoughts!

It's 23:35; No Regrets

 The Reason

There was a time where he had to believe that everything was bad; that every single human was corrupt. That he, as the heir to the underground, was supposed to make those people face retribution.
It was supposed to be him delivering justice.

Now he's in jail and he doesn't know what to do. He's left to his cell as his subordinates try to worship a dead king. He has fallen; this he knew.

This didn't make him give up, rather, he had more of a motivation to keep going. To keep trying, and trying before his body will pass through this world like Heaven is to a simple Man.

He hatches a plan, a strange plan. He was a tactician at those moments, cutting off all loose ends revealed in planning. He'll use those pawns in his plans. Yes, this is what he'll do to gain back his throne. He's going to do anything he can to make sure he'll win.

Oliver Cross allowed the man to nearly crack his skull on concrete.

March 23rd, 2015

So, you know how when you want to play one video game and then you try to look for it? Then you realized that you probably lost it? Yeah.

Anyway, how are all of you faring this near of another month day? Wonderful? Wonderful. It's a strange day for me, but what isn't strange on this blog? Nothing, that is the answer to my rhetorical question.

I was thinking, the reason I possess this blog is to work on various writing assignments for my class: Writing for Publication. However, I am now all out of interesting prompts that I can make something out of. So, in conclusion, I'm sort of in a writing stump— but not really. It's quite a confusing affair.

Anyway, I wonder if you all would be interested in me writing reviews on things other than books. For example, video games. I'm not so sure. I guess if I really don't have writing that I can show you and if I already did this update on life thing, maybe I'll concoct one for you. Maybe you'll have fun with my desperation, I don't know.

Anyway, have a good day, I'm going back to writing.

For A Play - Poem

Won't really make sense if you haven't read the play Fences by August Wilson.

Open the Gates

Carry along dear Lord.
Carry along with the might of all the men.
Carry along with my Six Brothers.
I will come.

Lord of everything real and
everything imaginary.
Lord of all who stand and
All who fall.
Lord Almighty, It is time.

Time to see off the Trojan Man.
Pick him off of the fields of rye
Bring your hands to the sky and
call out to everything.
Everything that is all, and all that is everything.
It is time.

I hold my weapon of Heaven
I hold my stead.
I hold the fiber of my being.
I’ll bring it out of me.

I will Hope
I will Hope as much as I can
Oh God
The God over all that is Great;
The Mighty Being
To Give in Return of my Loyalty
Allow me to Open the Gates
For this Mortal Man.
The Trojan Man.

This Trojan Man
Is not a Trojan Man.
He is the Alexander of the Greeks
To me,
to him,
and him,
and him,
and her,
and her.
He is immortalized in our mind and hearts.

It is time send him away
Dancing along with the servants of Heaven.
Finally
Oh Finally
It is time to open the Gates.

I will lift my weapon
Like the Sword of Legend.
I will play
With the sounds of the Sea.
Dear Lord I pray to you.
Let him through the Gates.

"Steal A Line" Poem

Childhood

I remember you as you were last autumn.
Your crooked eyes matched
with your crooked lips
that shine so brightly.
Diamonds are stored in your gums.

You played with me in the gardens,
the kitchen,
the living room,
and your bedroom.

You blinked at me owlishly now,
unsure what to do with me.
Even if you don’t look at me,
even if you don’t let me be at your side;
I’ll still love you.

Even if you bring others to your life,
even if you bring needles to my arms,
and legs,
and head—

even if you let me rot inside
with moss and spiders;
I’ll still love you.
You will forget me, surely,
but I’m ready for it.

I was your first friend,
and you are my cherished treasure.
You’re forever in my memory
like a heart always being in your chest.

I love you so much,
but I know I’m just a toy to you.
Because even with my stuffed arms,
my stuffed body,
I can still hear you.

I can still feel you.
Hidden like a gem in stone,
I am your confidant,
hidden in this toy bear of yours.

Job Poem

After the Massacre

The pit is filled to the brim
with pieces of bones.
The survivors of disaster are pelted under the harsh rain,
memories of the lost make movement into their hands.
Humanity’s tears are silent winds chilling the hearts.

The scientist march in.
Heads held high,
but eyes filled with stones.
They carry out the bodies
and bow to the men and women and children.

To them. the lip is not the lip,
rather, it’s the curves, the crests, and the lines of  porcelain bone.
Covered in dirt and grime, white leaning over the mourning rain.

The scientists find these bodies in Death, painted in white.
and examine the the external, inferior, and the internal jaggers
in meatless flesh.
Many names have come to this place, a place of the dead.
(the names are left to be neglected under the lamps and heat).

Lights bleared and swayed under the shadows.
With just the forgotten and the unnamed, they find the grooves—
those uncovered passages
hidden in death.

They may find answers,
they may find truth.
They will.
All is the same between these monochrome children.
All is the same in life.

The scientist search,
in all black and in all white.
They chop the teeth,
stare holes into the human glass,
pity the cracks and shatters.

People are at the edges of their seats
to watch those adults with their straighten backs
and their high heads.
Their words are spoken in slow, delicate tunes,
their eyes fill with retribution.
The case has ended with the Goddesses of Judgement.

Day in and day out
they are surrounded by death.
They have to peel away the lies and find the words
(the very last words)
that were left behind
through the puzzles in the bodies.

Despite the stench and the weight,
they still find truth
they still give hope
in all black and white.
They continue the past and continue the present
in that transparent organ
left behind.

March 13th, 2015

It's my birthday! I'm older than the majority people in my grade! This is fantastic!

Minus this bug bite on my cheek. GOD IT IS SO ITCHY. These stupid bugs and this stupid coming season.

Honestly, March is this awkward season where it's just gross. Hopefully this thing'll go away.

Birthday Poem

Birthday Cake

Writing hides once every year
amidst the partying and the cheers.
My mind fogs in the candles blazing and twinderling on the cake,
the velvet frost evading the melting wax.
There would be songs all around,
 yet I found nothing in those lyrics.

I keep staring at the desolate colors, burning the entire room.
They chant to blow the candles
and I’m not so sure what to do.

It is a time of happiness,
so to say, but really it’s a countdown
until your days are fully numbered and
you go down the trap
which keeps you there until you feel needed again.

I blow the candles out.
The lights flicker on
and silver slices white.

Everyone cheers as the white coated cake
is passed about, like trophies to the underserved.
I stay silent,
trying to keep the smile playing on my face,
but the fog only entraps me more.

The clock ticks and the countdown has begun.
To a new time in a new age,
to a new life
(that only rejuvenates once every year),
and to luck
that might not serve me well.

Memory Poem

The Sage

When I was ten I saw the light of the fire,
glowing and fuming with blue screams.
Father had placed a shaking hand on me,
dubious of my attraction to it,

but asked me for assistance.
He gave me my sword of wood,
telling me to stir the monster from its wake;

I poked and prodded it,
unsure of the lumps and oozing liquids
that relaxed in the circular shield.

He laughed at my actions,
but told me in slow and delicate tones,
as if I were made of glass,
and guided me on this tutorial

that would surely help me in the long run.
His wrinkled hands,
(old with strain; young with age)
with pulsing veins seemed more pleasant
when he was tugging my smooth ones.
I stirred and stirred the beast until

all of his bubbles popped and the fire crackled.
He laughed
as one particular bubble popped
and hissed its venom on our faces.
Thankfully, we were courageous heroes
that were use to the spattings of angry beasts.

I looked at my Father,
no, I looked at the Sage;
old with his knowledge
and ready to hand it to me.

My clammy hands held the sword tighter,
we stirred the beast to its full wake.
The beast hissed and roared
with steam as its words

evaporated into the air.
Father had pulled me back;
it was now his battle.
He told me to wake my brother from his warm sickness,
I followed as told and yelled

inside that snoring room:
“Spaghetti is ready!”
I said with a laugh.
My brother exited, fatigued and dizzy;
never aware of this fierce battle
between Father, the beast, and myself.

Continuation Poem

Purity

Because in the previous years across that cement road
with the beastly family that secretly whispered and snickered;
the harsh sentences they spoke from their thin, cherry lips
were daggers under the pillows;
the words were imprinted into the children’s minds;
(what was happiness to them—)

and because in those years,
those children didn’t seem to understand what was said,
their naivety was overcoming the darkness of reality—
they grew into people that overcame those thoughts and secrets;
fighting against all the words and hissed whispers,
(—what makes normality and beauty—)

and because faced with more difficulties;
more gossip and more mouths,
it was then that it was right next to them,
reality’s venom trying to tear apart their limbs and bones,
they continued to grow even so—
(—who cares for the statistics and the reports; they were people—)

and because they retained such purity in life,
they overcame all those expectations,
they believed in themselves,
they grew into people that lived;
they became happiness itself—
(—and  people don’t matter, but then, with this realization,
they began to love; to realize what actual beauty is—)

and because they became happiness
they lived with painted smiles that crashed into life’s canvas;
despite all the struggles and the troubles,
(—the doubts and the fears—)
the tears and the woes,
the losses and the grievances;
with the odds against them,
(—it was the struggles in life,
the fact that they had survived,
was what made their lives beautiful—
it was the fact that
they still managed to live
that made beauty.)

Justice Poem

Themis & Dike

You were the wind at my back, holding me up to keep me tall,
the rapid hurricanes you gave me were a comfort at most.
The speckled dust clogged my eyes,
the seasonal winds tasted like spring in my throat,
the tornadoes roared in my ears,
and the air felt silk under my hands.

You smile to me,
as the winds roared along with you
 as you sing Latin
and tell me words in that soft language.

Aut viam inceniam aut faciam—
—I'll either find a way or make one—
you told me when we played amongst the flowers;
the rays dancing on our skin.

Yet, your lips were sealed,
those flat lips were silenced from their flesh,
sewed letters and phrases together into sounds
rather than words.

My right is your left so that means I always have the right.
Your way of Justice seemed to melt
into your way of Morals,
it never seemed quite correct;
always abnormal to majority’s views.

You were silenced,
shamed,
and depicted as strange.
It was as terrible as a drought
for both you and I.

However, the two Justices are by our side.
We can trust ourselves to live our lives
and make our own mistakes.

We were to live on,
day by day.
With the Heavens looking after us,
we were the clouds drifting away.
We were okay.

So, even if Justice finds a way out of your bones—
it’ll come back to you either way.
Even if your Morals are drained away from you,
you can get it back—
even as your winds die out
from behind me and turn back to air,
you will still be there.

Exception to All- Excerpt

A dinosaur out of context is like a character without a story. Worse than that, the character suffers from amnesia. —Jack Horner

I'm not quite sure where I am. I’m not quite sure who I am. I don’t remember much about myself. Although I am aware that I must’ve done something morally wrong as my face was being held against a cold surface. My arm was twisted behind my back and there was a numbing sensation that tingled from my forearm to my wrist.

“What d’ya have to say now, Oliver?” Snarled a rough voice from behind my head. I immediately had begun to panic. I struggled from the ground, useless. I heard the hearty laughs from behind me. It was then that a switch flipped.

My body had begun to move on its own. In a flash, I had found the ground spinning away from me as my body flipped over the mass above. Now, I was standing above the man who held me incapacitated and he was sprawled in pain.

I felt rough hands holding me back almost immediately afterwards.

“Damn it Cross!” Someone hissed into my ear. I was confused. Why didn’t they hold back the other guy when he was attacking me? I didn’t have enough time to ask as they push me into a white padded room.

“Hopefully,” The blue suited man sneered at me. “You’ll learn not to pick fights.”

He shut the door.

March 12th, 2015

My throat hurts but, hey, at least my birthday is tomorrow. As well as my luck is coming back. Pretty great day, I would say.

I really have nothing to say other than I'm going to post something soon for a thing I'm writing on the back burner.

March 10th, 2015

MY BIRTHDAY IS IN THREE MORE DAYS. I'M GOING CLOSER TO BE ABLE TO ADULT. THIS IS GREAT.

Well, not really. However, I am ready to play video games after I'm done with school. So ready for those games.

May or may not come back to give you an excerpt of what I'm writing currently.

The Weird Thing About Sleeping

I just obtained the weirdest thought. I do remember wanting to mention it at three in the morning, but I doubt anyone would've liked to stay up with me. So, here is this small thought about sleep.

We all know that sleep is needed for the brain to be healthy. You rest sometimes when you're tired or have nothing to do.We just sleep the day away.

However, the thought just occurred to me. We pretty much black out for a couple of minutes and wake up hours later. You miss life when sleeping, yet you experience it in your dreams.

Your mind just sends you to the parts of your imagination and leave you there until the body is fully regenerated. It has a clock, ticking and tocking until the alarm blares you awake.

Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock.

Then you wake up. Then you go back to what you were doing prior and do not bat and eyelash at the very thought that you simply blacked out of life for a few hours. Sleep is a curious thing, a curious thing that becomes apparent when there is a lack of logic in the mind.

I should really get more sleep.

Thoughts

YOU KNOW I JUST REALIZED SOMETHING LIKE, WHAT IF AREN'T ACTUALLY LIVING? LIKE, WHAT IF WE WERE IN LIMBO AND WE'RE JUST REPEATING EVENTS UNTIL WE DID SOMETHING IN OUR LIVES? IT'S CRAZY, BECAUSE IF WE'RE NOT ALIVE, THAN WHAT ACTUALLY IS?

WHAT F ALL OF THESE CONCEPTS AND THEORIES ARE PROVEN USELESS BECAUSE IF ONE THING ISN'T CORRECT, WE HAVE TO RESTART ALL OVER AGAIN?

I'M REALLY PONDERING OVER THIS YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND.

March 6th ~ March 7th, 2015

Sorry for not updating in awhile. Most of the writing I've been writing are usually for classes and/or for my personal entertainment. But hey! At least I'm happy, right?

Anyway, I'm currently at a Model UN conference at the moment and I've finished most of the assignments given to me and I really have a lot of time on my hands. Maybe I'll work on another article, just in case.

So far, the conference is great! I got about two or three hours tops for the remaining time of the committee until awards are given out. So, maybe I'll just waste a bit of time before I do anything else.

I really have nothing else to say other than that I fell and it bruised. Additionally, I have six more days to my birthday — soon I will be three more years closer to my graduation ceremony.

Hope you guys are having fun too! See you maybe tomorrow!

March 4th, 2015

I just had this sudden revelation about school.

People often complain and moan about having to go to school. They have to get good grades. They have to.

Nowadays, people mistake obligations as permanent "jobs", Such as being a student is an occupation. People seem to mistake that getting an education is a gift rather than a pressure that they have to hold onto.

Whenever I see someone complain about the educational system, a part of me agrees. Because sometimes this type of system, which lists people, human beings, as numbers rather than their own individual selves; it's flawed. However, another part of my thinks about the thought of how teenagers think school is a mandatory commitment that you have to do, but you really don't.

Just a thought.

March 3rd, 2015

New month, hopefully renewed luck will come to me.

Anyway, I managed to complete a story of mine, which deals with a world where death rates are higher than birth rates. I'm proud of it, but I can't help but wonder what thing I've missed.

My birthday!!! Is in a week!!! Friday the 13th!! It's great. Actually, for I have more fun counting down the days for my birthday instead of my actual birthday, ha!

I actually am working on a multi-chaptered story on paper. It's been an idea I've been playing around for awhile now. I'm also working on a comic. Busy with creating things this month!

I also am going to attend a "field trip" with my club on Friday and Saturday. Missing a day of school; woo! I have to make sure my assignments are done. See you!